


Thin Line

by inkandchocolate



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During that famous speech in "Lover's Walk" we get a glimpse of Spike's thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thin Line

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: For Donna because she always supports me when I whine and says "Good idea" even if it isn't. And for Sam because I owed her a story that was spoiler-free, and she did the brutal beta for this one.

What anger worse or slower to abate then lovers love when it turns to hate.  
\- Euripides

I hate and love. You may ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it and am in torment.  
\- Caius Valerius Catullus

Love is whatever you can still betray ... Betrayal can only happen if you love.  
John LeCarre

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Spike looked at them, his Sire and the Slayer. He was weak, shaky from the drinking he'd been doing, and the fighting on top of that. He ached, muscles and sinew and heart. Seeing those two make puppy dog eyes at each other as they professed to be friends was the singularly most offensive part of this entire trip back to Sunnydale.

"You're not friends," he spit out. "You'll never be friends."

And how well did he know this himself? Oh, he would laugh if he could, but right now it just wasn't possible. Friends. What a bloody joke. Friendship was something that his Sire found difficult at best, and impossible once some intimacy had been established. It was all or nothing with Angel, and it always had been.

~*~*~*~*~*

It had been the same with Angelus. The soul restoration had done a lot of things to the vampire, but it had not removed his tendency to own those he had around him. Spike could remember nights that he had spent with Angelus. In his bed. In his arms. Held, fucked, possessed. They had been each other's obsession. And they had reveled in it.

They each knew their role, Sire and Childe, Master and submissive. Owner and owned. The one who would bite, and drink, and enter. The other who would be pierced and drained and impaled. Both of them gloried in the power that their positions gave them over the other. For what is a Master without a slave to own, and how can you be the possession of no one at all? They made a perfect union. Back then he had been William, or Will, and he had been the center of the universe to Angelus.

And then he had been alone, abandoned for the call of the bitch, the lure of the chance to be someone's pretty little pet. And even though Drusilla had been there with him, his heart had ached for the loss of the place as most favored and the beginning of the end was upon them.

Friends? Not bloody likely.

~*~*~*~*~*

"You'll be in love 'til it kills you both, " Spike growled, eyes boring into Angel's, willing him to see the rage and the pain that burned there. It had been there for a hundred years. Even now, the sight of his Sire moved something inside of him. It hurt, damn it all to hell! Did he think that what they shared had meant nothing to him, to the boy that he was back then?

~*~*~*~*~*

Hours spent being taught how best to please Angelus, and learning in the meantime how very much he could find the pleasure in serving well himself. He remembered those times when Angelus would be in a generous mood and would bring Will to climax after climax with hands, and silk scarves, and tricks that would make his eyes roll back in his head. And after he was collapsed in the linens, drenched in sweat and shaking from exhaustion, Angelus would lift his legs gently, place them over his shoulders and slide inside of him, the way eased with their sweat and the fluids from all the earlier pleasures. Angelus' dark eyes would lock on Will's stormy ones, their lids drowsy with passion, and they would watch each other rise again to ecstasy in slow measured strokes.

And things were so clearly spoken in those eyes of blue and brown, things that neither would give voice to but both felt and knew to be true.

~*~*~*~*~*

"You'll fight...an' you'll shag..." His voice shook with emotion. He gripped the countertop in front of him in an attempt to control it.

~*~*~*~*~*

The times for argument had been many, but each one seemed distinct in his mind. The times he'd been whipped for disobedience until his back was raw and bloody. The times he'd been taunted into a fight for the sole purpose of having himself beaten unconscious for his Master's satisfaction at teaching him it could still be done and easily at that. The times he would be screaming into that face, that smirking, arrogant, beloved face only to find himself thrown to the floor, or against the wall, or onto the table ... and stripped and ravished and fucked into oblivion.

~*~*~*~*~*

"And you'll hate each other 'til it makes you quiver...but you'll never be friends."

Definite tone in the voice now, and that's got Angel's attention. Those sad eyes are looking right at him, they see inside of Spike as if he was made of glass and filled with colored sand, all his thoughts and feelings a different hue swirling towards the center and spelling it out for the one person who shouldn't have needed a diagram. A man who knew him more intimately than anyone ever had or ever would. A man who could be so fucking clueless...

~*~*~*~*~*

Hate and love are so finely drawn, the ease with which one can step over the line is staggering. Spike was not a classically educated gentleman, but even he knew in his heart that one violent emotion is the other side of another. Some things could be learned through life experience. He couldn't possess this much hatred of the one who had made him if he didn't have the same boundless amount of love for him. Funny thing was that there had been so much more hatred between them it should have eclipsed the love by now.

But it hadn't.

~*~*~*~*~*

"Love isn't brains, children. It's blood." Spike's chin came up at that one, gesturing to his head and then his traitorous heart. "Blood screamin' inside of you to work its will."

And oh, by all things unholy, if Sire didn't get the point of that statement then he was truly as stupid as Spike had come to believe he was; the Slayer may have stolen his brains along with this heart after all. Because if they had nothing left between them, there was always the blood.

~*~*~*~*~*

Blood tied them tight, bound them together. His blood flowing from his throat, his last moments as a mortal were spent in a place he would have died happily, clasped in a lover's embrace. When he'd thought himself dying, Will had looked intently at the face of the demon who held him, and saw nothing but the human mask it had worn in their time together. His mind, busy with the business of dying, graced him with that final gift. He still remembered the words whispered into his ear, talk of life everlasting, eternity, power...spent with the man who held him. He couldn't say yes to the offer fast enough, and when the cool wrist with its crimson offering was pressed to his lips, Will drank eagerly. The blood had filled him, flooded him, shrieking its way through his body and his brain. When he'd woken, after the change, he'd been in Angelus' arms again and they had mated in celebration. His new senses had made every touch, every kiss, every stoke a thousand times more intense. His heart, he suspected, had been given in those first minutes. Over a hundred years later, it still belonged to the one who had made him.

~*~*~*~*~*

He tilted his head, proud and strong, looking at them both now. Gathered his composure. Spoke these words true: "I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

Even if Angel wasn't.

~end.


End file.
